The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 05 eBook

The Archivarius now lifted the Golden Pot, and cried,
with a strong voice, “Serpentina! Serpentina!”
But as the student Anselmus, joying in the destruction
of the vile beldam who had hurried him into misfortune,
cast his eyes on the Archivarius, behold, here stood
once more the high majestic form of the Spirit-prince,
looking up to him with indescribable dignity and grace.
“Anselmus,” said the Spirit-prince, “not
thou, but a hostile Principle, which strove destructively
to penetrate into thy nature and divide thee against
thyself, was to blame for thy unbelief. Thou hast
kept thy faithfulness; be free and happy.”
A bright flash quivered through the spirit of Anselmus;
the royal triphony of the crystal bells sounded stronger
and louder than he had ever heard it; his nerves and
fibres thrilled; but, swelling higher and higher,
the melodious tones rang through the room; the glass
which inclosed Anselmus broke; and he rushed into
the arms of his dear and gentle Serpentina.

ELEVENTH VIGIL

Conrector Paulmann’s anger at
the madness which had broken out in his Family.
How Registrator Heerbrand became Hofrat; and, in the
keenest Frost, walked about in Shoes and silk Stockings.
Veronica’s Confessions. Betrothment
over the steaming Soup-dish.

“But tell me, best Registrator, how the cursed
punch last night could so mount into our heads, and
drive us to all manner of allotria?”
So said Conrector Paulmann, as he next morning entered
his room, which still lay full of broken sherds, and
in whose midst his hapless peruke, dissolved into
its original elements, was floating in the punch-bowl.
After the student Anselmus ran out of doors, Conrector
Paulmann and Registrator Heerbrand had still kept trotting
and hobbling up and down the room, shouting like maniacs,
and butting their heads together; till Fraenzchen,
with much labor, carried her vertiginous papa to bed,
and Registrator Heerbrand, in the deepest exhaustion,
sank on the sofa, which Veronica had left, taking refuge
in her bedroom. Registrator Heerbrand had his
blue handkerchief tied about his head; he looked quite
pale and melancholic, and moaned out: “Ah,
worthy Conrector, not the punch which Mam’sell
Veronica most admirably brewed, no! but simply that
cursed student is to blame for all the mischief.
Do you not observe that he has long been mente
caphis? And are you not aware that madness
is infectious? One fool makes twenty; pardon
me, it is an old proverb; especially when you have
drunk a glass or two, you fall into madness quite readily,
and then involuntarily you manoeuvre, and go through
your exercise, just as the crack-brained fugleman
makes the motion. Would you believe it, Conrector?
I am still giddy when I think of that gray Parrot!”

“Gray fiddlesticks!” interrupted the Conrector;
“it was nothing but Archivarius Lindhorst’s
little old Famulus, who had thrown a gray cloak over
him and was seeking the student Anselmus.”